


Absolution

by extasiswings



Series: Such Selfish Prayers [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mob, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Honey Over Knives Queen, Non-Explicit Sex, Organized Crime, POV Female Character, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earlier, he had been so brilliant—cold and blazing and efficient, towering in a way that had nothing to do with his height and everything to do with the sheer power and energy in his body. </p><p> </p><p>  <em>"Be careful of the Murdock boys..." As if she's ever been afraid of the devil. If anything, the devil should be afraid of her.</em></p><p> </p><p>[Organized Crime AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to my Matt/Elektra playlist and then to the S2 OST, which led to me putting Sparring on repeat for ages because of my feelings and that led me to this AU. I have a lot of thoughts and ideas about this universe, but I didn't want to commit to writing an epic multi-chapter, especially since my brain likes to skip around a lot and only write specific scenes. So, I decided to make this a series and post as oneshots in a nonlinear timeline (it's possible I'll rearrange the order once I have more but for now it is what it is).
> 
> Anyway, in this universe, Matt is both a lawyer and a SHIELD agent, at first undercover within Fisk's organization (inspired by Murderdock in SpiderGwen universe). Elektra is the leader of her own organized crime operation (the Hand), and her alias isBlack Sky. She and Matt end up working together to take down Fisk, Matt gets new orders to stay undercover within the Hand, and eventually things just happen. As they do. 
> 
> This is significantly later in the timeline, after they've gotten together. Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Warnings: Blood/Violence (nothing beyond the level of anything in the show I don't think though).

Elektra sees the gun half a second before it goes off and falls to the ground to dodge the bullet. Matt though...Matt goes as still as she's ever seen him for the briefest of instants before grabbing a knife from her fallen guard and throwing it with near-perfect accuracy. The would-be assassin howls as he drops his weapon, the knife impaled in his hand. A second knife goes through the man's shirt, pinning him to the wall. 

There are other sounds now, more of her people rushing to the door after hearing the gunshot, but while Elektra is vaguely aware of the shouts and questions, her eyes are on her lawyer. 

(And he is hers, that much she knows. He was SHIELD's and he was Fisk's but not really, never really, and now he's _hers_ and that makes something inside her curl up and purr) 

Matt seems wholly unaware of anything but the man whimpering in pain against the wall. His face is like stone—no, not stone, solid ice—and his hands are wrapped around his cane, knuckles white with the grip. It hits her what he's going to do the second before it happens, and her mouth opens in...what? Shock? Censure? But she says nothing, does nothing but watch as Matthew draws the sword that's hidden in the cane and slices cleanly through the man's carotid artery. 

It's a bloody business, arterial spray staining the wall, Matthew's white shirt, his face even somewhat. The noise level in the room rises from shock and then goes abruptly silent when Elektra raises her hand. She crosses the room the way one might approach a wild animal—slowly, carefully, no sudden movements. Matthew hasn't dropped the sword, hasn't moved an inch, but once she's close enough she can see the way he's trembling. 

Elektra reaches out and brushes his shoulder, and he starts under the touch. The sword clatters to the ground and he bolts out of the room. 

She looks between the body and mess left behind and the door Matt's disappeared through and swallows. 

"Clean this up," she orders, knowing someone will take up the task. Then she goes after him. 

He's nowhere in sight by the time Elektra makes it out of the warehouse. She considers looking for him, running over rooftops in the dark until she finds him, but she doesn't. 

_Where would he go?_ No cane, covered in blood...he could go to the police, but she doubts it. They've long since overcome that particular moral impulse. But where? 

Her penthouse. Or his apartment. One choice is more likely than the other. 

Elektra heads for home. She doesn't wait for a car, preferring to run off the adrenalin of someone trying to kill her. The burn of her muscles and cold air filling her lungs is enough to distract her for an hour or so at any rate. 

When she arrives at her penthouse, riding high on endorphins rather than shock, she waves off the questions and concerns of her guards. 

_Someone just tried to kill you. You should care more about that._ The voice in her head sounds like Matthew. She waves that off too and slips into the shower while she waits. 

Under the warm spray, memories flicker in and out of her mind. 

Their first conversations. 

( _"What do you want?"_

 _"I want to take down Wilson Fisk."_ )

( _"They're not good people, but that doesn't give us the right to kill them."_

 _"And what do you think they'll do to you if you don't?"_ )

Vanessa Marianna. 

( _A note sent to the office. Blood on his apartment floor. A raging wildfire of fury, because no one touches him, not ever._

 _Matthew, drugged and bloody and broken, tied to a chair. Ice in her chest, in her stomach, in her veins because she can't tell if he's alive or dead for fifteen seconds and they're the longest fifteen seconds of her life_ )

Elektra shivers like she can still feel it, reaching behind her to turn the water to just below blistering. The desire to cut out Marianna's heart with a sai for daring to touch him hasn't faded even months later. 

( _"You let her go."_

_"Well, I am a woman of my word."_

_Kissing him in a hospital bed, feather light and careful, but enough for him to know she means it_ ) 

_Why do you care if he lives or dies anyway?_ That voice sounds like her father. 

_You know why._

( _"Are you going to arrest me, Agent Murdock?"_

 _"Christ, Elektra, no."_ )

Elektra shuts off the water and towels off, examining the damage from the attack in the mirror. There's a bruise on her elbow, already darkening from how hard she had hit the pavement, but the pain is negligible. The scrape on her hand stings from the soap and hot water in the shower, but it's no longer bleeding. Superficial injuries, hardly even worth taking note of. Other attempts on her life have left her with scars. 

_0/10 for effort_ , she thinks. 

Her hair is curling already, thick waves that will be a pain in the ass to brush through later, one of the few markers of the Greek heritage she inherited from her father. Her fingers catch in a snarl when she tries to run her fingers through, but she can't be bothered to fix it. Instead, she slips into her robe, the silk a whisper as it slides over her skin. And then she pours herself a drink...and she waits. 

(She tells herself that's not what she's doing. She tells herself that she's still winding down—brushes out her hair, paints her nails—but every tick of the clock has her itching to pull on fresh clothes and go out again because _where is he, where_ , and it's hard to deny it)

It's nearly 2AM when she finally hears a clatter on her balcony. _There._

"Come inside, Matthew," she says, not bothering to raise her voice. It's not as though he won't hear her. The balcony doors click open and footsteps land more loudly than she expects from him, halting and hesitant. 

When he finally appears in the doorway, her breath catches. He's wearing the same clothes he'd left the warehouse in, dress shirt and pants now dirty and torn in places from what she expects was climbing and tumbling over rooftops. The blood on his face and neck is dried now, flecking off in places, but the look on his face...

_Oh, my darling._

Wrecked is the only way she can think to describe it, as if he's cut himself open and can't stop the bleeding and isn't sure if he wants to. For a moment she doesn't say anything, just crosses into the other room to grab a washcloth and a bowl of warm water. When she returns, he hasn't moved from the doorway. 

"Sit," Elektra commands gently. She sets the bowl down on the closest table and wrings out the cloth. 

He listens, but when she reaches out to wash some of the blood from his face, he catches her hand. 

"You shouldn't—" Matt's mouth twists as he cuts himself off and Elektra tips her head and assesses him carefully. 

Earlier, he had been so brilliant—cold and blazing and efficient, towering in a way that had nothing to do with his height and everything to do with the sheer power and energy in his body. He'd been beautiful in that moment, like some kind of avenging angel as he raised his sword. 

_Saint Michael Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection..._

_Saint Michael, Angel of Death._

She could remind him that even the angels killed demons, but she doesn't think he would appreciate the sentiment. He probably also wouldn't appreciate the comparison. 

_No, he wouldn't. He'd argue for an age that there's too much darkness in him, not enough goodness, not enough light. Whatever that means._

And yet, as much as he hates himself for killing someone without hesitation—at least, she assumes that's what this is—she knows he would do it again. She would never ask him to, but he would. For her. To protect her. Which...tells her a lot more than either of them have said outright about whatever this thing is between them. 

_What's good anyway?_

Elektra slips into his lap, settling with her knees on either side of his hips. Matt closes his eyes and for a moment she thinks he might ask her to go, but he doesn't. Instead, he drops her hand and she resumes her intended task. 

The blood comes off easily and the smallest amounts of tension seem to leave his shoulders with each pass of the cloth. As reluctant as he'd been at first to touch her or be touched, by the time she finishes, his hands are gripping her hips tightly, the dirt on his fingers smudging dark prints into the red silk of her robe. The water in the bowl is black when she finally sets the cloth aside. 

"Are you—" Matt's voice breaks and he tips his head into the hand Elektra's left on his cheek. 

"I'm fine," she replies. "Barely a scratch." 

"Are you sure?" 

Her hand slips from his cheek to his shirt, fingers making quick work of the buttons. There's more grime underneath—fresh blood welling up from new scrapes to mix with whatever sweat and dirt had managed to accumulate beneath the fabric. 

"You're more than welcome to check for yourself," she offers, but he's shaking his head before she even finishes. 

"I shouldn't—I—" Matt's hands flex once on her hips before he lets go as if she's burned him. "You've already showered and I've been running for hours. I'm a mess." 

Elektra rolls her eyes and unties her robe, ignoring his sharp intake of breath when she shrugs it off her shoulders. 

"Then I'll shower again," she replies. "Or you can, if you're so concerned. But honestly, Matthew, just touch me. I know you won't believe that I'm fine until you do." 

There's a beat, a breath, and then Matt lifts his hands to her ribcage. He's barely touching her, just the tips of his fingers ghosting over her skin. It's far from sexual—in fact, she would almost call it clinical if it weren't for the emotions coming off of him in waves. 

He swallows hard when he finds the bruise on her elbow but moves on. The scrape on her hand he presses his lips to, then wraps his arms around her and holds on tight. Elektra cards her fingers through his hair. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs finally. 

She raises an eyebrow. "For what?" 

"I killed that man before we could find out who sent him."

The phrasing has Elektra sitting back, tipping his head up so she can see his face. 

"Not sorry you killed him?" She clarifies. Matt makes a face that tells her she hit exactly what she was looking for.

"I should be," he admits. "I killed someone. Without even...I should regret that, I should feel that. Before, the few times with Fisk, I always did. But not this time." 

_Oh. He's having a crisis of conscience. Is that what this is?_

She knows she shouldn't smile, not when he's obviously at least somewhat distressed, but she can't quite help it. And then she kisses him because she can't help that either. 

He tastes like blood and salt and city and _Matthew_ underneath it all and he doesn't push her away. 

"What—?" He starts when she finally pulls back. She silences him with one finger to his lips. 

"If I had a random person brought in here right now, even a bad one, and told you to kill them, would you?" 

Matt flinches. 

_Gotcha._

"Of course not," he replies. "I wouldn't just—"

"My point exactly," she interrupts. Matt goes quiet, considering, and she steals another kiss in the silence for good measure. 

"You haven't changed," she continues. "You're no better or worse now than you were when you woke up this morning."

"I killed him. Because he tried to hurt you, I killed him. And I don't regret it at all." His voice is all shadow and broken glass, but there's something underneath too, something slinking and satisfied, and it sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. "What does that say about me?"

"It says your protective instincts trend toward lethal," Elektra answers, sliding off his lap and taking his hands to pull him to his feet. "Nothing more, nothing less. And there's nothing wrong with it. Or you, for that matter." 

_"Be careful of the Murdock boys..." As if she's ever been afraid of the devil. If anything, the devil should be afraid of her._

Matt hums, but doesn't argue for once. When he bends down and captures her mouth, she knows he's made his peace with it for the moment at least. His touches turn deliberate—a far cry from a moment ago when he'd been checking for injuries—and her stomach twists with want. 

(That's nothing new though. She's wanted him since she first laid eyes on him. Now she just gets to follow through)

She's tugging him towards the bathroom before she even fully processes her decision. 

"Elektra—"

"Shower first," she says, stripping off his belt and pushing his pants off his hips. "You're covered in city."

"You going to join me?" There's a smirk on his lips that makes her want to bite him, and she pushes him under the spray instead of responding, swallowing his laugh with a kiss. 

It's some time before they actually wind up in her bed, even longer before they sleep. Matt falls asleep before she does, and Elektra lies there watching his face, listening to his breathing, his heart. She can't sleep. 

By all accounts, she should be exhausted, and she is—if not from the hour, at least from the way Matt had worked her over with his wickedly clever tongue until she lost track of the number of times he'd made her come. His shoulders bear the scratch marks she left when her legs finally gave out in the shower, his back from when he finally slid inside her, too much and not enough at once, and she felt as though she couldn't get him close enough even when he was as close as could be. 

She let him hold her after, tracing the twin scars on either side of his chest as his fingers completed a circuit up and down her spine. She reaches for one of the scars again now, but his fingers close around hers before she makes contact. When her eyes flick to his face, his are still closed. 

"You think very loudly," Matt murmurs, thumb passing over her knuckles. 

"I didn't mean to wake you." It's not an apology, but it's as close as Elektra will allow herself to get. 

"What's wrong?"

 _Nothing_ is on the tip of her tongue, but her heartbeat changes just enough that she knows he'll know she's lying if she says it. Dammit. Usually her control is better than that. 

She swallows back the lie and allows herself to consider the scope of her inquiry, the potential consequences of getting the answers she's almost certain she'll get if she takes him down this road. 

"Why are you here?" 

For an instant, just a fraction of a second, he's stung. But then, his face smooths over, and it's clear glass when looks back to her, his free hand caressing her waist. "I thought that was obvious." 

Elektra rolls her eyes at the charade. "Don't be crass, Matthew. It doesn't become you." 

It would be so much easier if that were the case, if he were just here for the sex. She could approve of that. There's nothing messy about that. But he's not, and they both know it. 

He sighs and suddenly he looks as exhausted as she feels. She hasn't pulled her hand away, so he laces his fingers through hers. "I'm here because I want to be," he replies. 

She drops her gaze from his face to their hands and tries to think. 

"You killed a man today," she says slowly. "And then you came here. To me." 

He waits. 

"You could have gone back to SHIELD months ago, after Fisk," she continues. "Or if you wanted to bring down my organization you could have arrested me, again, months ago. It's not like you don't have more than enough information." 

"I wouldn't—" Matt tries to interrupt, but Elektra shakes her head. 

"I know. But eventually...Matthew, you're still an agent, and eventually they will start to wonder, if they haven't already. They will expect things. And you will have to make a choice."

"I don't care if I go to prison," he replies, his jaw set. Something twists in her chest. 

"They won't send you to prison," Elektra points out. "They won't take that risk. They'll kill you, or lock you away in some hole in the middle of nowhere and throw away the key. And if they find out about today, that you killed a man and then came to my bed, they won't wait until they have proof that you're not on their side." 

"I don't care—"

"You should!" It cracks out of her like lightning and Elektra bites her lip almost hard enough to bleed when Matt shifts and sits up. His thumb passes over her knuckles again and she itches to pull her hand away. She's raw and frayed and hell, the day must have taken far more out of her than she'd realized if she's this open, this close to the edge. 

"Elektra..."

" _Why_ —why are you here, Matthew? You shouldn't be. By any stretch of logic, you shouldn't be, but you are. So why?" She's back to calm and controlled, pulling back, keeping herself together the way she always does. Except, she still hasn't slept and his hand is still in hers and he's _maddening_ , truly the most ridiculous man she's ever known, and she _loves_ —

"Because I'm in love with you," Matt says, and her heart stutters in her chest. 

It's not a surprise. It's not. If she lets herself think about it, she's known. She simply pushed it aside, refused to acknowledge it, because it's _messy_ and _complicated_ and she doesn't like messy and complicated. 

More than that, she _hates_ the way he's made _her_ feel messy and complicated, all soft and twisted up inside. 

"You're a fool," Elektra shoots back, vicious and acidic. "A damn fool." 

And yet, for all that, his lips curve up and he leans into her space and she curses internally because her heart stutters again. 

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah, maybe. But I'm a fool who's in love with you." 

"Fool," she says again, but she crushes her mouth to his before he can respond. She doesn't say it back, can't say it, but he's smiling against her lips and she thinks he knows anyway. 

_Damn fool_ , Elektra thinks, but that one isn't directed at him. 

An empire at her fingertips, and she would give it all up for this man. Her father would despair. 

“Matthew, I—“ The words catch in her throat and his face goes soft as if he’s heard them anyway. 

“I know,” he says, and then he’s rolling her underneath him and setting his lips to her racing pulse and she doesn’t have to say anything for a while. 

_Someday I’ll say it. Someday. Just not today._

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bedroom Hymns by Florence + the Machine: 
> 
> "...I'm not here looking for absolution, because I've found myself an old solution..."
> 
> If anyone is interested, my primary listening selections while writing this were:  
> Sparring-DD S2 OST  
> Bedroom Hymns-Florence  
> Monsters-Ruelle  
> Shatter Me-Lindsey Stirling


End file.
